


Sweet Creature

by vangeaux



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crossover, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hot evil people running the Dreadfort, Manipulation, Reference to Torture, Slow Burn, Some bad language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vangeaux/pseuds/vangeaux
Summary: Ramsay thought he had plucked an innocent flower. Katherine was the serpent underneath.





	1. Chapter 1

When night fell, the cool temperature creeped into the carriage, chilling the young girl to the bone. The view out of the small window had served as minimal entertainment but now she drew the shutters closed. It wasn't just the temperature that bothered her. The sight of the surrounding dark, rustling trees unnerved her. It wasn't her first night on the road, yet the hair on the back of her neck rose. Fear seeped into her aching chest, along with the cold. 

Esme wasn't alone in her sudden terror. The horses, her faithful beasts, neighed restlessly, scuffing the ground as they came to a halt. There was no need for the stop; something had spooked them. No command from the coachman could move them forward; something blocked their path, something the horses sensed as terrible threat.

Darren's instincts weren't as sharp as the animal's, nor as sharp as the lady he was safely escorting. It was his duty to see the trip the rest of the way through, so without further delay, he went to investigate. The carriage shuddered on its wheels, Esme daring to take a peek through the blinds. Darren stepped down to the ground; Esme watched his shiny boots as they trekked through the mud, towards the lumpy silhouette that blocked their path.

She wanted to call him back to the carriage; soon, she will wish she had.

He lay a hand on the horse's neck, trying his best to soothe them as he walked past. The pulse beat rapidly under his palm as the horse reared his head, eyes staring wildly into the darkness. Darren kept his knife out of view, ready to use it on whatever he might find. Perhaps it was a snake slithering by, disturbing the horses. It wouldn't be the first time.

But it was something much bigger than a snake lying before him. He made out was previously just a grainy, blurry shape into the body of a young woman. She was terrifyingly still, looking as if she had only just died. Her face still retained it's beauty, gleaming pale in the moonlight. She was a beautiful creature with a sweet mouth, and dark curly locks contracting with her smooth, pale skin. She emanated peace and beauty and also something much darker. But reason was too strong for Darren to fight. He couldn't leave such a lady there, not lying unconscious in the road. If life still clung to her, the sooner he could wake her, the better.

"My lady?" He whispered urgently, crouching down beside her. Inside the carriage, Esme tried to spot the two in the darkness but could see nothing, could hear nothing.

At first, there was nothing truly to see. The girl lay unresponsive to Darren, still as a statue, still as a corpse. There was no movement in her chest, no sign of breathing. Panic began to bubble up inside of him and he lay a hesitant hand on her arm. It was still warm.

"My lady?" He tried again, his voice more urgent, this time shaking her gently.

Brown eyes flashed open to meet his, so sudden that he fell back in surprise. He felt his heart jump to his throat, but he couldn't look away. She held him captive with her gaze as she smiled, and sweetly told him, "Call me Esme."

His brow furrowed at the unusual behavior. "Don't speak," the lady continued softly, pushing herself up off the ground. "Don't say a word. Just get back up on your box and ready the horses. You still have to escort me to our destination." She smiled and giggled and brushed his cheek with her fingers. And Darren found himself complying to her every demand, silently and without thought.

The two of them walked back towards the waiting carriage, the sound of their steps reaching the girl waiting for her coachman. "Darren?" She called out. "What's happened?" There was no reply, just the falling steps reaching closer and closer.

And then, silence.

Her sharp intakes of breath was all she could hear, and darkness enveloped her like a shroud. Body wracking with tremors, she pushed herself away from the door, to the opposite side of the carriage. The sense of safety was only an illusion. Her death, at that moment, was certain.

The door swung open to reveal only a lady, but when she smiled, a demon took her place. Fangs protruded from her upper jawing, digging into her bottom lip. It's eyes grew black as it's skin mottled in black veins.

Esme's scream was quickly cut off as the creature sunk it's teeth into the soft skin of her neck. It didn't take long before she succumbed to darkness.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Darren called out.

"Perfectly fine," she responded calmly, dabbing away the leftover blood on her chin. The corpse in her arms fell out of the open door, landing on the ground with a thud. "Please," she continued, shutting the door, "continue with the journey."

Now, the real Esme took the dead woman's place as a corpse in the road while the monster demurely reclined on the cushions in the carriage. It was time for her best performance yet. For awhile at least, Katerina Petrova was to be Esme, Ward of Roose Bolton.


	2. Chapter 2

Ramsay Snow had not expected Esme Ambrose to be so pretty. He had seen the gangly little boy that was the son of Lord Ambrose. It was only reasonable to imagine the sister looking much the same way. The girl before him, however, appears nothing like the lords of her house. 

There's nothing about her that gives the appearance of an exhausted lady, spent from an arduous journey. Where are the dreary eyes? Where are the stiff limbs? Her movements are smooth as she steps out of the carriage, her eyes bright as she takes in her new temporary home. Every curl is perfectly in place, her gown prim and proper. 

No, Ramsay had not expected this at all.

With what he assumes to be a charming grin, he begins to approach her. "My lady," he greets graciously, dipping his head. 

"My lord." Her voice is soft, pleasing to his ears. Placing her hands demurely behind her back, she steps forward, head turning every which way as she observes the dreary surroundings. For so long her only view seemed to be of endless trees or fields. It's quite nice seeing a bit of civilization again, no matter how bleak it may be.

No matter, the scenery wasn't what she came for anyways. The true object of her curiosity stands right in front of her. She isn't quite sure yet, what she will come to find in the infamous Ramsay Snow. People talk about him as if he were a monster, a deranged beast in human skin. What stands before her is just a man. He's a bit shorter than she imagined, than what the stories made him out to be, and his grin seems more playful than sinister. He can easily pass as a harmless gentleman but it's the eyes that give him away. Vibrant blue, they are as piercing as she's heard. There's something in the way he looks at her that makes it unnerving. Katherine recognizes the coldness in them; those eyes had seen things that would send shivers down a lady's spine.

But he isn't the only one keeping secrets. Katherine was no ordinary lady, no damsel in the clutches of a wolf. A little human like Ramsay with such a big reputation will make a fun game. She will enjoy him, enjoy breaking down his sweet facade piece by piece. He will show her the beast that resides in him and she will show him hers.

Let him see what a true predator looks like.

However, it would take some time. There's definitely much to discover about this character. She knows better than to judge at first glance; after all, Ramsay will take her to be nothing more than a sweet little ward. People like her (like them) have to make great liars. She won't let her guard down so soon around this unassuming man.

"On behalf of my father, Roose Bolton," he states, "I welcome you to our home." It's a warm welcome for such an intimidating place. Even as he speaks, a cold wind blows his cape and snow clings to his contrasting dark hair. Katherine may be immortal but she isn't oblivious to the freezing temperature. She pulls her cloak tighter around her.

Ramsay's grin noticeably broadens. She seems frail, too weak to be in the cold. The powerful preys on the weak. He will have her in no time. 

"It's certainly a magnificent home," she replies, eyes continuing to look past him. Ramsay doesn't realize that she is hyper aware of him, of every movement he makes. Her faux distraction is merely a ruse, one of the many she employs. "My father sends his regards," she continues softly, eyes finally landing on him. 

"I'm sure it must have been hard to leave his side." Ramsay remains polite, as he refers back to her failure of a father and lord. "But duty does call." It was very unfortunate that the Ambrose's debt to the Bolton's continued to accumulate. The poor man seemed to forget about it entirely, that is until Roose demanded insurance. They would keep the young Ambrose lady for as long as it took the Lord to repay his debt. 

Ramsay is sure Esme Ambrose will be their guest for quite a while.

"You've had a long journey," he says, his clasped hands tightening around each other. Over the years, he's learned incredible restraint. There's no way to tell that the beast inside of him is coiled tightly, eager to lash out, eager to see how blood would look on her pretty pale skin. His voice is cool, controlled. "You'd like to see your room, I imagine."

"Yes, indeed, thank you," she replies, her own inner beast lying dormant. It's easier for her to shut the bloodlust off, to live in a more civilized manner. She's only become what most women have in higher positions, cunning and secretive. It's no crime to manipulate the men who take advantage of their power. 

The ladies maids are already there, carrying her stolen bags of garments away, ready to lead her to her new room. Katherine is following when she suddenly stops, and turns just slightly to face Ramsay again. His brow cocks; for a moment, they both observe each other curiously. "Will I see you again soon?" She finally asks. 

The ladies maids look on in horror as Ramsay smiles, leaning forward as he promises, "Of course, my lady. You can count on it." They know what that smile means. Their stomachs twist in knots as they quickly look away, hurrying to their destination.

. . . 

Darren stays in a room close to hers, always just a few feet away. He had specific orders from Lord Ambrose to keep a keen eye on the young lady. It wouldn't be acceptable to send her away on her own to a place she was unfamiliar with. 

Darren made a lousy companion. He failed the real Esme, and he was bore to the fake one. 

"Explain why you're doing this, again?" He sighs, sitting at her desk. He feels no fear at speaking so frankly with her; she made sure to compel those feelings away. Now, he only feels displeasure at seeing her parade around as the innocent Lady Ambrose. 

"How many times must we go through this?" There's a sigh of her own as she strips down out of her traveling gown. She's naked in front of him thought it hardly matters. Katherine has never been much ashamed of bare bodies, and Darren doesn't exactly look at her with lusty eyes. He still only sees a witch, the demon within her. Any beauty that she may have had was marred to him, from the black heart that she possessed.

"You sneak into the Bolton's good graces to see if a bastard is as monstrous as he's rumored to be?" It's the story he's been told over and over again, yet it still feels unbelievable. He doesn't trust her. How could he? 

"All out of pure curiosity," she promises. She toes the warm water in the basin before finally stepping into the bath. Looking up, her curls fall over her face, partially obstructing the view of her coy smirk. "A person grows bored after a few centuries. You'll find we do the most unusual things out of boredom." Then, with a wave of her hand, she dismisses him. 

"Make sure you have a good rest," she adds, before he has left the room. "We have a big day tomorrow, Darren." He pauses, nods, then ducks out of the door.


	3. Chapter 3

True to his word, Ramsay and Katherine meet again very soon after her arrival. 

They meet the very next day actually, when Ramsay offers to show her around the Dreadfort. With his help, she begins to learn her way around her new home. It quickly becomes apparent how deserving the place is of its name. The land is barren, the weather unforgiving, and the people seemingly miserable. The Bolton banner flies proudly in every direction she turns. She now understands the fear it induces in people; the sight of a flayed man isn't a pretty one. 

The Bolton's are an impressive family indeed.

Weeks pass quickly and the two of them seem to tentatively dance around each other, testing the waters as they try to figure each other out. Neither side wants to give first, both want to know exactly what they're dealing with. She's too sweet to be of much interest, but there's a coy way she interacts with him as if she knows something that he doesn't. He promises himself that he'll figure it out soon.  

At first, he seems incredibly boring. Show me your teeth, Katherine prays. Only when she's about to crawl out of her own skin, does she decide to move the first pawn. 

"May I speak freely, my lord?" She asks, her voice sounding the perfect amount of tentative for a high born lady. He's not a lord, obviously, only a lord's bastard. But she knows how he longs for the title. She sees the pleasure it brings him to hear it from her lips. His eyes spark as he looks at her from across the table. The two of them sit at supper, he biting vigorously into his meat and she picking around the food. She's just about lost all of her appetite for what humans call food. 

Ramsay swallows what he has in his mouth before smiling toothily from across the table. It's an eerie facade of camaraderie. "I encourage you to." 

She calculates her move carefully, weighing each word before she says it. "I must confess, you're nothing like what I expected. I'm sure you're aware of how people speak of the Dreadfort. Though, I find myself enjoying my stay." Their food is forgotten as they eye each other thoughtfully. He's trying to determine if she honestly feels safe or if she is simply an exceptional liar; Katherine, of course, is both. 

"Yes, I'm aware of my home's bad reputation." Placing his eating utensils down, he leans forward on the table. She recognizes the predator in him; he would make an incredible creature of the night, she muses. However, that certainly isn't an option that Katherine would entertain. If the tales of the Bolton's are indeed true, Ramsay is dangerous enough as a human. Any sane immortal would know better than to turn someone like him. Someone like him needs to have limits. "I'm very pleased to hear that you feel comfortable here," he continues, oblivious to the thoughts she has just dismissed. "Were you frightened when you arrived?"

"Only frightened of the unknown," she says, much to his disappointment. "I've heard stories." Her eyes are wide, innocent as she studies him. His own eyes narrow when he begins to realize the game she plays. She's prodding at the beast but he won't give her what she wants, not just yet. 

"Rumors can be quite misleading." He continues to smile but his words are clipped. It's a warning, one any other girl would quickly heed. The girl before him, however, continues to insist on the subject. 

"You deny them, then?" She presses, as if completely unaware of the thickening atmosphere in the room. The servants scurry away like rats aware of an oncoming storm. 

She questions him as if he's on trial and he doesn't respond well. Ramsay Snow answers to very few people and the little girl before him isn't one of them. She will have to learn her place very soon. Already, he is growing bored with her stupidity.

"I think it's important to make our own opinions, and not rely on the talk of others." Finally, he picks his knife back up and stabs it into the meat on his plate. He bites into it, tearing it apart with his teeth and his gaze turns cool. He's thinking of all the things he wants to do to her, how he'll chase her and take her and make her scream. "Don't you agree?" He asks, words muffled by a mouth full of food. 

It's not a genuine question; she recognizes how he has cornered her, forcing her to answer the only way acceptable. His intent to end the conversation is clear. "Yes," she says stiffly. "I suppose so."

"Enough about my home, then. Tell me about yours." Leaning back and pushing his plate away, he reaches for his wine and drinks heavily from the goblet. 

"Oh?" 

"You must miss it," he suggested. There was a peculiar heat in her gaze, as if something lying dormant had suddenly come awake. There had been no dramatic change in her demeanor but it was there and he becomes acutely aware of the power she holds in her controlled posture. He marvels at the thought that the rather unremarkable girl before him might have a bit of spirit in her after all.

The table between them feels as if it's growing smaller. He takes another sip of his wine and licks the remnants from his lips. His lips are stained red and Katherine begins to feel the familiar ache in her canines.

"Of course," she says, swiftly recovering from her incessant need to feed. The lies come easily, it's a skill she had perfected over the centuries. "What would you like to know?"

He tests her with questions of her home and family and she impresses him with quick responses and witty childhood tales. At least he isn't conversing with a complete imbecile.  

By the time supper is over, he's completely convinced of her sincerity and he almost has her fooled as well. His casual demeanor is so convincing, Katherine would be lying if she said she wasn't as equally impressed. 

Except, as the weeks pass by, she can hear him at night when he sneaks out to fuck or torture. It makes it easier for her to find the most quiet time of night to feed. Thankfully for her, his hearing abilities aren't nearly as finely tuned as hers. Humans have no chance of detecting her as she moves through the night; she's good even by vampire standards. 

It's not difficult to find food, even at such a time of night. Sometimes, it's travelers drifting in and seeking shelter for much needed sleep. Sometimes, it's giggling lovers seeking a secret rendezvous. No matter the story, Katherine always strikes quickly, never leaves time for the screams to bubble up out of her victim's throat.

By the time she departs from the small village, dawn is approaching. It's the time when the heavy darkness isn't quite as thick as it was before, when blackness turns to blurry shades of gray. It's when the scrawny humans around her begin to crawl out of their hiding spots. 

A girl stumbles across Katherine and freezes. Katherine's hood of her cloak is pulled up over her head but she's still easily recognizable. Dark curls spill over his shoulder, her fine clothes stand out even in the dark. She belongs to the Bolton's; the girl before her begins to tremble. 

"Poor dear," Katherine coos as she does still feel emotions such as sympathy and she reaches for the girl's hands. "You look terrified. What has you in such a state?"

The unfamiliar hands grip hers tightly, desperately. "You're a sweet girl, m'lady," the girl tells her in hushed, shaky voice. "You don't belong in a place such as this." She says it with such conviction that Katherine can't help but feel moved by her concern. She's ready to comfort the distraught girl when she glances down at their clasped hands, noticing for the first time the dark, sticky substance that coated them. 

"Blood?" She chokes out, pulling away from Katherine's hold. 

When their eyes meet, they both go still and the girl cannot move an inch away. The lady is a demon, she rationalizes. There was no other explanation for her sudden immobility, for the loss of control over her own limbs. Her horrified thoughts fade away when the lady begins to speak. 

"You'll forget about our meeting," Katherine tells her softly, because her hunger is momentarily satiated, because she doesn't wish harm on the young innocent. "You'll go back home and you'll no longer fear for the safety of Roose Bolton's new ward. She's a wolf among sheep."

"Esme Ambrose is strong," the girl whispers, knowing it to be true, wishing she could harness the same power.

She forgets what's she doing, standing alone outside of the tavern and she forgets why there's blood smeared across the palms of her hands. It doesn't matter; she wipes them on the skirt of her dress and hurries home without a second thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Darren watches her carefully as she dresses in the mirror. She's keenly aware of his gaze and makes a show of every movement, flourishing her garments as she wraps herself in them. Even while she has her fun, she knows better than to think he's admiring her. His loyalty was won out of compulsion, not by any semblance of veneration. Because as he watches her prance around like a maiden, he knows what truly puts her in such a seemingly lovely state. She's only ever so happy once she's just fed. 

     Blood always makes her more charming than usual; as he ponders it, she smiles at him and he wishes she were different.  

     "There's been a bit of a stir in the village," he tells her, unnerved by her convincing disposition. "Some of the peasants were found dead this morning." 

Katherine doesn't flinch. Her mood doesn't even sour at such distasteful conversation; she merely continues to admire her own reflection, turning every which way to inspect her dress. It's a style so different from the kind she was used to. The material is thick, layers upon layers of rough-spun wool and fur. It was nothing like the brightly colored silks and lace of the south. A sigh of disappointment falls from her lips. 

Stifling his own sigh, Darren stands and begins to pace. Katherine's casual disinterest is worrying. Her feedings had been gradually growing more and more frequent. Soon, people will begin to catch on. Soon, people will begin to point fingers. 

"Isn't that a normal occurrence around here?" She murmurs, dismissing her maids with a wave of her hand. They curtsy quietly before scurrying out of the room. Katherine seems to fill the role of lady easily, never shying away from using the power her status allowed. He wonders who she was before she became Esme Ambrose, if she was used to such power. He knows more about Katherine than anyone else at the Dreadfort yet still her past remains a mystery to him. 

"Th smell of death," she continues, "seems to permeate the air here. I noticed it the moment I left my carriage upon arrival."

"Yes, well," Darren sighs, "they're saying it was the result of an animal attack. Ramsay's hounds are considered to be the popular culprit."

"Perfect." Finally, she looks at him and he sees the first sign of emotion cross her face. She's pleased with herself, why wouldn't she be? She is smart, powerful, and hiding in plain sight. 

"You seemed to have everyone fooled." At his statement, her eyes narrow and she twists around to peer at him more closely. She's like a snake, he thinks. Like a dangerous serpent lurking in murky waters. Yet, no one but him knew. Katherine's perfect disguise gaines sympathy easily. "They worry about you," he explains. "The highborn lady, caught in the clutches of a madman."

     It's true; she remembers the girl she had met out in the village. You're a sweet girl, m'lady, peasant had said. You don't belong in a place such as this. The naivety and concern for Katherine's safety was a bit endearing, she must confess. And it's how Katherine makes the game fun; she plays naive better than any other actress could. 

"We'll see who is caught by whom, Darren." The juxtaposition of the sinister tone in her soft voice send chills down his back. 

Katherine turns back to the mirror and her attention is lost once again. 

. . .

     The study is dark, cramped, annoying. Ramsay really wouldn't be bothered to sit through another reprimand from his father in such dusty air but duty calls. To become the legitimate Bolton heir is all that matters, after all. He imagines all that would one day be his as he forces himself to play obedience.

"I trust you have control of your hounds, Ramsay," Roose intones as he watches his son from behind the desk, eyes studying every expression that crossed Ramsay's face. Deciphering such expressions had become easy for Roose, guarded as Ramsay was. 

"Of course, father," he says smoothly, his smile unnatural and tight. It isn't a lie. His pets are marvelous creatures, savage but exceptionally well trained. And they are under his complete control. Any doubts his father may have could be quickly put to rest. 

"What you do with tavern wenches is no business of mine," Roose begins hotly, voice raising as he leans across the desk, "but I do ask that you be discreet." With a huff, he falls back into his seat, gaze averting to the wall so he no longer has to look at the bastard before him. Resigned, he softly finishes, "the deaths of those girls won't go unnoticed."

"Yes," Ramsay drawls, head tilting back to observe the stone ceiling. The nonchalance body language always frustrated his father; Ramsay found it funny. "I've heard talk of what happened in the village. A single bite to the neck, they say." Tapping the side of his neck, he feels for the steady thrumming of his pulse. His blood always burns a bit more hot when he imagines the destruction that follows him. The particular incident the night before, however, hadn't been his doing. He says as much to his father. "Doesn't exactly sound like a job of mine, does it?"

At least Roose looks pleased enough. Pushing off of his desk, he sighs, "Very well. How does the Ambrose girl fare in her new home?"

"I'd say she's quite comfortable." Ramsay finally begins to show a hint of humor in his mood as his grin broadens. It's a wicked smile, one that only further sours his father's own disposition.

"Make sure she remains so." Pausing, Roose contemplates his illegitimate son's position. It isn't a secret that Ramsay craves the Bolton name, and sometimes Roose thinks that he deserved it. Other times, he's reminded why he doesn't. "Don't forget who she is, Ramsay."

Immediately, Ramsay's expression darkens. "I don't intend to," he bites out.

As if Ramsay needs further reminding that he is only a bastard and Esme a highborn lady. He sneers at the thought. The political barriers between them only makes her more tempting. Ever since he was a child, Ramsay had never been satisfied with what he was allowed. There was always the desire for more. 

One way or another, he promises himself, Esme will be his before the time comes for her to leave. 

. . .

It's hard to explain the itching in the back of her mind. Fiona is generally considered to be a clever girl but sometimes she misses things. This time, it's a memory that is escaping her. Perhaps she would have let it go had it not been for the terrible news that she had woken up to. Frequent attacks had plagued her small village, and more peasants had been taken in the night. They were good people; she grew up with them. 

No, she can't ignore the itch, not this time. On the contrary, she allows it to lead her towards the Dreadfort. Everyone knows how the grounds are cursed, and just the sight of the looming castle makes the hair stand on the back of her neck. Every instinct except one tells her to run in the opposite direction. If only she didn't know that Esme Ambrose was somewhere behind the walls. Fiona doesn't know how or why, but it all centers on the lady. The desire to make contact with the mysterious woman is stronger than the desire to turn back. 

Her attempts to find Esme Ambrose soon go horribly wrong; Fiona should have known better than to venture into the Beast's den. 

     "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting," Ramsay Snow says softly as she mentally curses herself for her idiocy. Any attempt to flee would be in vain, at least she understands that much. Because while Snow spoke true, they had never met before, Fiona knows perfectly well who he is. Lord Roose Bolton is a respected and feared man in the North. His bastard son is only hated. 

Fiona hates him. She hates the family that she lives under; if she had the means to leave, she would do it in a heartbeat. However, she's known nothing but misery throughout her life. That isn't soon to change. 

     "I'm called Fiona, m'lord," she chokes out, feeling as if she might suffocate in the cold air. "I was only looking for the lady." She doesn't need to specify any further; there are never many ladies near the Dreadfort. The environment never allowed for it.

Ramsay's brow raises. "Are you familiar with Lady Ambrose?" At her silence, he steps closer to her, almost toe to toe. She watches her shaky breath unfurl in the air, brushing against his chest. "You know better than I that it's no longer safe in the village, Fiona. How would you like to stay with me?"

     As a maiden who has never been kissed, even she knows better than to refuse him.


End file.
